There is no other bird, I vow, Half so fantastical as thou, Since all that ugly voice can do, Is to sing on--'Cuckoo! cuckoo'!"

"If my monotony of song Displeases you, shall I be wrong,"

The Cuckoo answered, "if I find Your comb has little to my mind?

Look at the cells--through every one Does not unvaried sameness run?

Then if in me there's nothing new, Dear knows, all's old enough in you."

The Bee replied: "Hear me, my friend.

In works that have a useful end It is not always worth the while To seek variety in style, But if those works whose only views Are to give pleasure and amuse, Want either fancy or invention, They fail of gaining their intention."

The Rope Dancer and His Pupil

A Tight-rope Dancer who, they say, Was a great master in his way, Was tutoring a Youth to spring Upon the slight and yielding string, Who, though a novice in the science, Had in his talents great reliance, And, as on high his steps he tried, Thus to his sage instructor cried: "This pole you call the counterpoise My every att.i.tude annoys; I really cannot think it good To use this c.u.mbrous piece of wood In such a business as ours, An art requiring all our powers.

Why should I with this burden couple?

Am I not active, strong and supple?

So--see me try this step without it, I'll manage better, do not doubt it-- See, 'tis not difficult at all,"

He said, and let the balance fall, And, taking fearlessly a bound, He tumbled headlong on the ground, With compound fracture of the shin, And six or seven ribs crushed in.

"Unhappy youth!" the Master said, "What was your truest help and aid Impediment you thought to be-- For art and method if you flee, Believe me, ere your life is past, This tumble will not be your last."

The Squirrel and the Horse

A Squirrel, on his hind legs raised, Upon a n.o.ble Charger gazed, Who docile to the spur and rein, Went through his menage on the plain; Now seeming like the wind to fly, Now gracefully curvetting by.

"Good Sir," the little Tumbler said, And with much coolness, scratched his head, "In all your swiftness, skill and spirit, I do not see there's much of merit, For, all you seem so proud to do, I can perform, and better too; I'm light and nimble, brisk and sprightly, I trot, and skip, and canter lightly, Backward and forward--here and there, Now on the earth--now in the air-- From bough to bough--from hill to hill, And never for a moment still."

The Courser tossed his head on high; And made the Squirrel this reply: "My little nimble jealous friend, Those turns and tumbles without end-- That hither, thither, restless springing-- Those ups and downs and leaps and swinging-- And other feats more wondrous far, Pray tell me, of what use they are?

But what I do, this praise may claim-- My master's service is my aim, And laudably I use for him My warmth of blood and strength of limb."

The Bear, the Monkey, and the Pig

A Bear with whom a Piedmontese Had voyaged from the Polar seas, And by whose strange unwieldy gambols He earned a living in his rambles, One day, upon his hind legs set, Began to dance a minuet.

At length, being tired, as well he might, Of standing such a time upright, He to a Monkey near advancing, Exclaimed: "What think you of my dancing?"

"Really," he said, "ahem!" (I'm sure This Monkey was a connoisseur) "To praise it, I'd indeed be glad, Only it is so very bad!"

"How!" said the Bear, not over pleased, "Surely, your judgment is diseased, Or else you cannot well have seen My elegance of step and mien; Just look again, and say what graces You think are wanting in my paces."

"Indeed, his taste is quite amazing,"

Replied a Pig with rapture gazing; "Bravo! encore! well done! Sir Bear, By heaven, you trip as light as air; I vow that Paris never knew A dancer half so fine as you."

With some confusion, Bruin heard Such praises by a Pig conferred; He communed with himself a while, And muttered thus, in altered style: "I must confess the Monkey's blame Made me feel doubtful of my fame; But since the Pigs their praise concede, My dancing must be bad, indeed!"

The m.u.f.f, the Fan, and the Parasol

"It sounds presumptuous and ill To boast of universal skill, But 'tis a scarce less fault, I own, To serve one sort of use alone."

An idle Parasol, one day, Within a lady's chamber lay, And having nothing else to do, Addressing his companions two, Reclining near, a m.u.f.f and Fan, He thus insultingly began, Using a form of dialect, In which, if Aesop is correct, The Bra.s.s and Earthern Jars, of old, Conversed as down the stream they rolled.

"Oh! sirs, ye merit mighty praise!

Yon m.u.f.f may do for wintry days, A corner is your lot in spring; While you, Fan, are a useless thing When cold succeeds to heat; for neither Can change yourself to suit the weather Learn, if you're able to possess, Like me a double usefulness, From winter's rain I help to shun And guard in summer from the sun."

The Duck and the Serpent

A self-conceited Duck, one day, Was waddling from her pond away: "What other race can boast," she cried, "The many gifts to ours allied?

Earth--water--air--are all for us.

When I am tired of walking thus, I fly, if so I take the whim, Or if it pleases me I swim."

A cunning Serpent overheard The boasting of the clumsy bird, And, with contempt and scorn inflamed, Came hissing up, and thus exclaimed: "It strikes me, ma'am, there's small occasion For your just uttered proclamation; These gifts of yours shine rather dim, Since neither like the trout you swim, Nor like the deer, step swift and light, Nor match the eagle in your flight."

They err who think that merit clings To knowledge slight of many things; He who his fellows would excel, Whate'er he does should do it well.

The Tea and the Sage

The Tea from China on her way, Met in some sea, or gulf, or bay-- (Would to her log I might refer!) The Sage, who thus accosted her: "Sister--ahoy! ho--whither bound?"

"I leave," she said, "my native ground For Europe's markets, where, I'm told, They purchase me by weight of gold."

"And I," the Sage replied, "am seeking The route to Canton or to Peking; Your Chinese use me largely in Their cookery and medicine; They know my virtues, nor deny The praise I ask, however high, While Europe scorns me, just indeed, As if I was the vilest weed.

Go; and good luck t'ye; know full well That you are sure enough to sell, For nations all, (fools that they are!) Value whatever comes from afar, And give their money nothing loth, For anything of foreign growth."

The Swan and the Linnet

Piqued at the Linnet's song one day, The Swan exclaimed: "Leave off! I say-- Be still, you little noisy thing!

What!--dare _you_ challenge me to sing, When there's no voice, however fine, Can match the melody of mine?"

(The Linnet warbled on)--"D'ye hear?

This impudence may cost you dear; I could with one harmonious note Forever stop your squeaking throat, And, if I do not choose to try, Respect my magnanimity."

"I wish," at length the Linnet said, "I wish, to heaven, the proof were made; You cannot imagine how I long To hear that rich and flowing song Which though so sweet, by fame averred, I know not who has ever heard."

The Swan essayed to sing, but--whew!

She screeched and squalled a note or two, Until the Linnet, it appears, Took to her wings to save her ears.

'Tis strange when some of learned fame _Will_ prove their t.i.tle to the name, How often ill-placed praise they mar, And show how ignorant they are.

The Flint and the Steel

The Flint, with language harsh and high, Accused the Steel of cruelty In striking her with all his might, Whene'er he wanted fire and light.

The Steel the imputation spurned, And with such warmth the contest burned That both, at last, agreed to slip Their contract of companionship.

"Good-by then, madame," said the one; "And since my company you shun, And to continue with me, doubt, We'll see what use you are without."

"About as much as you will be, Good sir," she answered, "without me."

FABLES OF GAY, COWPER, AND OTHERS